


The Embrace

by Quirky_Pen_Name



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: And then this happened, Eremin's a slow build, Kinda, M/M, Tags May Change, and yes they will rip your throat out, because that's how their sushi rolls, btw these are real vampires, but still, i just wanted Jean to die instead of Marco for once, idek what this is, it wasn't Eren's fault, it's for a kiss, just wait til mikasa and levi show up, then shit gets real, there's a little dubious consent in chapt 3, werewolves and mages too, white wolf: world of darkness au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2180196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quirky_Pen_Name/pseuds/Quirky_Pen_Name
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after his boyfriend dies in the line of duty, Marco Bodt finally has a bit of normalcy in his life. Until he discovers that the shooting which supposedly took his lover from him wasn't what it appeared to be. Supernatural forces reveal themselves in an unwinding jigsaw puzzle; politics and century-long feuds are brought to light as Marco discovers the world at night which mortals should never see. It's truly a world of darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Turn of Events, or a Prologue of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not familiar with White Wolf/World of Darkness/Vampire the Masquerade/etc... I use a lot of terms from the games (the Embrace, the Kiss, Kindred as examples) but I try to weave in the explanations throughout the story. I don't own white wolf or any of their ideas, but I miss GMing and this story happened.

_"And in other news, tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of a deadly shooting in Trost that ended with an officer giving his life to protect the remaining civilians. Officer Jean Kirstein died en route to the hospital and will be the focal point of tomorrow night's memorial ceremony. There has been some controversy in the small town about honoring the officer because of his sexuality; Officer Kirstein was post-mortem outed as a gay m-"_

"Can't they get anything right, Jeanbo?" A whimper came from underneath the metal table, and the tall brunette leaned down to scoop up the tiny golden retriever pup. He pressed her against his chest, ignoring the golden streaks of fur littering across the crisp white of his lab coat. He looked back to the TV. "Your namesake was bi, for the record." The puppy whimpered again and he sighed. "I know. You couldn't care less. I shouldn't care what they say either. C'mon, I'll get you something to eat." There was an elated bark, and the tiny pup wagged her tail; it thumped against the crook of his elbow. 

A knock on the door, and it opened with a blonde head peaking into the room. 

"Dr. Bodt, you have a last minute patient - his owner says it's urgent you speak with him. I-I had trouble asking him to leave." There was an unnerved tone in her voice, but he assumed the client must have been vehement. This client also must have caused quite a bit of grief for the usually bright technician to be so somber. 

"Don't worry about it, Krista. I'll be right out." He offered a smile as she shut the door. Holding up Jeanbo, the veterinarian gave the puppy a kiss on the nose. She gave him a loving lick back and he chuckled. "Sorry, girl - you have to go in the crate for a little while. But I'll give you some extra treats later since you were so good today." He nuzzled her before putting her in the crate with a bowl of her food. She barked and whimpered, but he could hold fast as a disciplinarian. He rose to his feet and leaned over the sink to pump cleanser into his palms, as he was programmed to do throughout the day. 

After washing his hands, he stepped out of his office, down the short hall, and rounded the corner into the waiting area. 

The scene he stepped in on was not what he was anticipating. 

A young man with similar features to his technician was pointing a small hand gun directly at her. His wide blue eyes were menacing despite the gentle features of his face. 

"Are you Marco Bodt?" His voice was oddly calm even though his hand was shaking. Marco took note of the mismatched behavior as the gears in his head were spinning. Ironic, if he were to be shot to death like Jean. But the vet answered him,

"That's me. Why don't you let Krista step outside and we can talk?" Marco did not let his eyes dart from the blonde before him. The gunman shook his head, and waved a file folder at the vet. 

"No. You're going to take a look at these. Right now." The blonde tossed the file at Marco's feet, and it skidded across the floor. A few of the photo prints had flipped over and slipped out. Marco's eyes glanced to the ground to see where they had landed. 

"Okay." Marco reaffirmed, "Okay, I'll look at these but promise you won't get trigger happy." He wasn't close enough to tackle without compromising Krista's safety. The armed blonde gave a nod, and Marco slowly knelt to look at the folder. 

His heart felt like someone reached inside his chest and squeezed when he flipped the manila folder it open. The first photo was an 8 x 10 of Jean outside a restaurant they used to frequent. Slowly, his fingertips caressed the unaware face that was on the page. 

The wound on his heart just had the scab ripped off in one fell swoop. It might as well have had battery acid poured over it.

"What do you know about your boyfriend's death?"

Marco blanched at the bluntness. But he had to try and be strong. His eyes flicked over to Krista, who was clearly frightened. If he messed up, Krista was the one with the gun trained on her. If he pissed off the gunman, her blood would be on his hands. 

"H-He was shot. In the line of duty. They said he," Marco swallowed, trying to stay composed. He let out a breath, "They said he died in the ambulance. On the way to the hospital."

He could remember that night, Sasha knocking on his door to tell him that Jean had died. She had lost a partner. He had lost his lover. The memory burned his retinas like the tears welling in his eyes. 

"And what if I told you he's not entirely dead?"

Marco's head snapped up and he looked in horror at the blonde. Was this his idea of a sick joke? 

"Look at the date in the bottom corner of the photo," the blonde urged, waving his gun toward the photo before pointing it back at Krista. 

The brunette obliged, only out of fear for Krista. But as his eyes scanned the numbers, he shook his head. 

"You photoshopped it. That's impossible."

A scoff, and then the blonde raised his voice, "Your boyfriend needs to leave me alone. And involving you will bring him out. He's a monster, but maybe you can put a leash on him." He started to back up toward the door. Looking to Krista, he asked, "how long ago did you dial 9-1-1?"

Her blue eyes betrayed her, terror apparent in them as she tried to cover, "I-I wouldn't..."

"I saw your hand slide under the notebook. I'm not going to shoot you if you look at your phone and tell me how long the call has been going."

She tried to stop her hands from shaking as she moved the patient sign-in book to the side. Her white iPhone was now in plain sight, and she glanced at the time on the screen as the call kept ticking the seconds away. 

"Five minutes and forty-nine seconds."

The gunman took a step backward to stand with his back to the door. Good thing their average city response time was about seven minutes. Chalk it up to being on the outskirts of suburbia. 

"They'll be coming for both of you now. But it was the only way. I'm sorry." 

And with that, he was out the door, the bell chiming behind him. Krista fell into her seat and tried to catch her breath. Marco remained on the floor, staring at the pictures scattered around him. He wasn't about to believe the raving lunatic. It was probably a tactic to spark vengeance against an officer whose life style he couldn't comprehend. Marco covered his mouth, feeling nauseous. 

If only Jean really was alive. 

If only those time stamps were right. 

The flashing sirens illuminated his small clinic, bouncing off of the white walls. 

He wasn't the type of person to drink, but he was pretty sure there was a bottle of rum at home with his name on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emergency response time - can be shorter in big cities, my experience was seven and a half minutes. Plus I looked it up on the internet, and they can't put anything on the internet that isn't true. Bonjour.
> 
> Also: picture Marco Bodt with a cute puppy. My Marco wanted that like burning, so I wrote this for her because she is tiny and precious and puts up with my "no you don't understand how fantastic of a character Jean is" ramblings. Though she plays an adorable Marco, in real life she'll cut you ._.;; so I'm posting this for fear of my life.
> 
> No seriously. She's like a tiny ferocious chipmunk.  
>  
> 
> Next chapter preview: A wolf. Reunion. One word betrayal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend offers comfort. Enter a familiar face, stage right.

The next few nights were surprisingly quiet, despite Marco's strange and frightening encounter at the clinic. Sasha had been the first responding officer and she swore to track down the responsible party. It was a blessing and a curse that the photos were taken away for evidence, as Marco had a hard time not staring at them. The police did their work quickly, and so it was back to business as usual. The office had only been closed for one full day.

Despite what had plagued them not 72 hours ago, there was a sense of normalcy with Krista behind the desk as they closed up for the night. 

"Any plans this weekend?" Marco asked, trying to make small talk ease back into the air.

"No, not really. But I'm looking forward to having a full day to relax!" Her spirit brightened Marco's, and he returned the smile that she gave him. 

A small bark turned his attention to the crate at his feet, and he couldn't help but chuckle. 

"She's certainly an attention mongrel." The brunette knelt down to the crate, opening the door to give Jeanbo a good ear ruffle. Krista knelt down next to him and peeked in the crate. 

"She's so cute." Her tone was elated. She giggled when the puppy licked her fingers.

"Yeah. Love at first sight. That's twice." It came out more wistful than he had intended, but it was the sad truth. Krista was not oblivious, and as such placed a comforting hand on Marco's forearm. 

"If you want, stop by tomorrow night. I'm making shrimp scampi."

"That _is_ one of my favorites." Marco agreed hesitantly. 

"I know." She nudged him in the side and kept the smile on her face. "Though, I promise my intentions are pure. I thought you might want a good home cooked meal." They both shared a laugh, and the brunette nodded.

"Alright. But I might have to bring a date." The puppy barked, as if in agreement. Krista scratched the little one under her chin. 

"Well I don't mind setting an extra plate." After stroking Jeanbo one more time, she pulled her hand out of the crate and closed it. "Seven o'clock okay?" 

"We'll be there." Marco was grateful to have a colleague like the blonde woman who was making her way out the door. Losing Jean hadn't been easy. But Krista had helped soften the blow in the smallest of ways. Bit by bit they added up, and until the craziness in the clinic a few nights ago Marco had learned to breathe again. The door clicked shut, and Marco stared at it for a moment. So many sacrificies had been made for him to open up this practice. He and Jean had pooled everything together, even moving into a smaller apartment. Looking down to Jeanbo, a bit of a smile tugged at his lips as he watched the pup lazily gnaw at a toy. It was a sad replacement, he was aware. But it was something to take care of. Something that needed him. Something to focus on.

Something to fill a tiny part of the void in his life. 

"Come on, girl. Let's go home." He hefted up the crate by its handle and headed out the door. 

The night air was crisp, and Marco shivered as he headed toward his car. He approached, setting the crate on the roof before he opened the passenger side door. A growl rumbled, and he laughed, 

"Alright, girl, I'm hurrying." He glanced into the crate and froze. His puppy was fast asleep, a small snort coming from her tiny nose. As he was staring at her, the growl rumbled again. He whipped around to see a pair of eyes glaring at him from the darkness. For a moment, he could have sworn they belonged to a wolf. But that was crazy. Wolves didn't roam in the middle of cities.

When it stepped under the streetlight, fangs bared, Marco realized he needed to be thrown in an asylum. Because he wasn't just staring at any wolf. The anatomy was wrong. It was bulkier and much bigger than a normal wolf. Because this was a dire wolf, a wolf that only existed in myths and legends. 

Unfortunately for him, this legend was all too real. The wolf lunged and Marco barely dodged the vicious jaws that aimed to maim, possibly devour him. He put his hands up as he slowly backed away, trying to stay as calm as possible. But his eyes flicked to the crate that was still on the top of the car. The puppy had woken up and was whimpering, pawing to get out of her crate. In response, the wolf snarled at the retriever. His fangs dripped with hot saliva, clearly thirsting for blood. 

Marco's veins ran cold. The pup was helpless, as was he.

Or so he thought. 

He had merely blinked, and the wolf was tackled to the ground. He blinked again and the wolf was chasing something down the side ally near where he stood. Marco dashed to the car, shoving the crate with the pup inside. She was safe. He needed to get to the other side of the car and speed off into the distance, but motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

He shouldn't have looked.

He should have driven away.

But if he had, he would have missed watching a familiar form punching the wolf in the jaw. And stumbling back to pull out a gun.

The blast caused Marco to jump, and he found his breath hitching in fear. A second blast came, and the wolf lie limp and bleeding on the ground. The creature whimpered, and its shooter gave it a kick in the ribs.

"Don't go near him again." 

A snarl came in reply, but Marco was too shocked and focused on the person standing not five feet from him.

It was like a twisted dream. The brunette stared, unable to find words that could form on his tongue. 

The man was across from him, keeping his distance, but standing in earshot. 

"You're alive?"

Jean shook his head. The response didn't deter Marco from asking,

"How? How are you here?" Marco's tongue was chalk, his mouth so dry that it was hard to speak. Jean. Jean was standing across from him. If he could will his feet to move, he could be embracing his lost lover. He could stroke his hair, plant kisses along his sharp jawline, cry into his chest from a catharsis of emotion. But he couldn't move. The surreal moment caused a temporary loss of his motor functions. They were staring at each other, neither making a move. Marco's voice cracked, a desperate plea. "Say something?"

"Marco," The man said his name, and Marco couldn't see him through the tears that had welled in his eyes. His lover. Alive. He tried to focus on the next words that Jean would say, expecting an apology, an explanation, something to stop him from shaking. "Marco. You'll forget everything you just saw." Jean's golden eyes pierced through him, and he felt a shiver. A tingling at the edge of his senses. _Forget. Forget._ But Marco closed his eyes and clenched his fist.

"No! I won't forget. I-I can't…" After all those lonely nights, after all of the mourning, all of the sorrow. Marco would never forget. He was so fixated on that notion he didn't hear Jean approach. Or maybe there was no sound of him approaching. Cold hands cupped his cheeks and pulled them down. Lips touched his own, making Marco gasp at the sensation. He made the mistake of opening his eyes to see if it was really happening. He whispered Jean's name, a bitter and breaking word drenched with longing.

"Marco." His name was echoed, and he searched Jean's eyes for the warmth they once held.

There was a long pause.

Only one word followed, one word that was betrayal.

"Forget." 

And Marco did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The Embrace. A Kiss. His sire.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memory loss, a bleeding ex, and an attack against the enemy. Well. Guess that depends which side you're on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sick and sitting on three chapters, so instead of spamming the site this is a omnichapter of sorts. I don't usually use time elapses, but I've been too nervous to post aha. Sorry for the delay and thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, the theme of this fic is pretty much: poor Marco and poor Armin. Silly mortals. Or are they? Hmmm. Hahaha. And eventually there will be a few flashbacks to flesh out some scenes. Like a certain "one night stand." 
> 
> Jean's been causing quite some trouble in his unlife.

Marco's eyes snapped open as he gripped the steering wheel of his car. The brunette let out a sigh, shaking his head. He really _was_ tired if he was nodding off in the driver's seat as if he were in some sort of trance. Looking over to the puppy's crate, he was surprised how much she was whimpering. 

"What is it, sweetheart?" Marco opened the crate and tried to scratch under her chin, but the poor thing couldn't stop its pathetic cry. He frowned. Jeanbo was usually good in the car so long as she was in her crate. "It's been a long week, hasn't it, girl?" He fished a treat from his pocket and left it in her crate, then shut the latch. When she started crunching the treat loudly, Marco smiled and turned the car on. He pulled onto the main strip and headed home; completely unaware someone solemnly watched him drive out of sight. 

That solemn someone, Jean, kicked at the ground. A sour expression spread over his features. He glanced back at the alleyway where his target had bled profusely. Only the wounded wolf was no longer there. 

Muttering a curse, the blonde man followed the blood trail. He walked briskly, but he didn't make a sound. As if his feet didn't even touch the pavement beneath him. 

Winding through back streets and dark corners, droplets of blood splattered proverbial breadcrumbs. Jean didn't need to see, merely smell. Since the blood was so fresh, it was an easy enough task. 

When he approached an apartment complex on the far side of town, he held back and watched as a man was dragging himself to the front door. Idiot mutt. Out in plain sight and bleeding from his injuries was a sure fire way to raise suspicion. 

Jean made a mental note of the area. The knowledge of where the wolf had gone might be useful. Well. Unless the wolf died of blood loss. He mentally patted himself on the back for making the investment in silver bullets. There was always a chance someone might have an uncanny immunity to a common flaw. Fortunately for him, that wasn't the case.

Enough time had passed that he could be selfish and partake in his new ritual. Jean walked to the other side of town which was a ten minute car ride. He made it in a little over that, no more exhausted then one would feel going out for a light stroll. He walked into the apartment complex where he and Marco had shared their lives while he was alive. Living, breathing. He knew he had to let go. He knew that holding on like this would spell disaster for him eventually. Or worse, for his still-greiving lover.

 _"We don't **love** , childe."_ His sire's voice from an earlier conversation echoed in his mind as he quietly unlocked the front door.

 _I know._ His own voice chided inside his head. 

_"Love is something mortals delude themselves with. They need something to sustain their short, meaningless, hopeless lives."_ His sire's words resonated again in his mind as he passed through the kitchen, the dining room, the hallway. _I know._ He replied again, staring into the bedroom at the sleeping form. A smile tugged at his lips. Marco was sprawled out across the bed, half wrapped in the sheets, parts of his limbs hanging over the edge of the mattress. The spell his ally had cast seemed to be working. 

_"Why are you doing this to yourself then? You know the rules."_ He did indeed. Without a sound, he stood at the side of their bed. His fingers softly traced the slope of Marco's jawline, and he leaned over to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Jean wanted to pull him into his arms, hold him tightly, kiss him senseless. His mind naturally wandered to **the Kiss**. And happy thoughts vanished as his rationality engulfed them. His sire had given him a choice. Leave Marco behind or turn him. But the latter wasn't truly an option. _He wouldn't survive the Embrace. It would break him._ Marco was too kind a soul, too gentle. He couldn't kill. Hunt. Lie. Manipulate. Jean had struggled with much of that himself. Picturing Marco doing the things he had done to survive?

Unbearable.

The brunette shifted in his sleep and Jean froze, fortunately not having to hold his breath. Marco didn't wake, he merely adjusted and let out a small snore. Gently, Jean ran his fingers through Marco's hair. He savored the warmth that practically radiated off Marco's skin. For someone that had a chilling constant temperature, it was so alluring. Jean fixed the sheets and comforter so that Marco wouldn't catch cold through the night. Once he was satisfied, he leaned down to kiss Marco's forehead. 

He wanted to whisper, "I love you," since he had been so terrible at saying it while he was still alive. But out of fear, Jean bit his tongue and silently left the room.

There was an emptiness that filled him as he exited the apartment. He supposed if he could cry, he might have. He'd shed his share of angry tears when he was alive. But being dead, or rather, undead meant there was no moisture for his glands to produce. His tear ducts were dry as a bone. 

He settled for punching a wall in a back ally where no one would notice a crumple in the brick near a dumpster. 

He heard a derisive chide in his head. He could still hear it ringing in his ears from earlier in the evening. It had been followed by Jean's sire reminding him, _"The sooner you release that emotion, the sooner you'll be free."_

The angry fledgling scoffed. 

_"You don't have a soul anymore. Stop moping and feed. I'm not giving you any blood tonight"._

Jean knew he was serious. He couldn't go another night without a feed or else he might not have control tomorrow. He relented, catching sight of a strawberry blonde woman hurrying in the direction of what must be her car. She kept dropping her keys, clearly nervous that she was out so late by herself. 

Well, the right kind of scared ones could be very easy targets. 

Jean licked one of his fangs and set out for his supper. 

 

{Elsewhere}

There was someone hitting his front door with staggered knocks. The blonde groaned, peeling himself from his bed as if it were some Herculean task. His eyes fell on his alarm clock, the time just after midnight. Shuffling to the front door, he rubbed his eyes before daring a look through the peephole. The person on the other side of the door was the last person he was expecting. He leaned his forehead against the door, "Go away, Eren."

A ragged voice called back to him, "Armin, please, open the door."

He contemplated it. Letting out a small sigh, Armin conceded and unlatched the deadbolt. As he opened the door and his eyes fell upon Eren's state, he gasped loudly. "H-Have you been shot?!" The blonde demanded in horror. Eren pushed past him to limp toward the kitchen table. Stopping at the chair, he looked to Armin. 

"Could you move your books? I don't want to bleed on them." Sincerity. It twisted Armin's heart, tugging at the strings that bound them together. Without a word he moved toward the taller man. Armin threw the books on the table, pushing papers aside with one arm to do so. He nudged Eren to sit. Grabbing a dish towel, he put it to cover the arm wound.

"You need to go to the hospital." The words felt heavy on his tongue. There was blood everywhere. On his fingers, some of his clothes, and he had barely touched Eren. How long had he been like this? How far had he been when this happened?

"I can't. That's why I came to you. I really need your help." Eren's bright green eyes looked up to meet Armin's blue ones. Eren could see a bit of fear behind them. Fear he knew he had put there. "I trust you, Armin. Please."

"I'm not a doctor, Eren!" He took a step back. "I can't sutra a wound!" Armin ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. He wracked his brain for any medical books he read. The more he thought about it, the more nauseous he became. He believed in the power of books, but to do something like this? Unheard of, even for him.

"I just need you to pull the bullets out. If you can do that, I can take care of the rest." Eren grimaced, the pain starting to overwhelm him. His voice became panicked, "please, Armin! Before the damage becomes permanent!" 

The blonde reacted to how desperate he sounded. Armin ran to the bathroom, grabbing the first aide kit and a hair band. He sprinted back, dropping the kit on the table. Pulling back half of his hair into a ponytail, he wanted to ensure it didn't get in his way. He grabbed the forceps, some gauze, and plenty of antiseptic. Armin knelt down to inspect the wound. "Eren. Give me that on the table." He pointed to what looked like a silver pen. 

With his good arm, Eren reached and handed it over. Armin clicked the top, revealing it to be a small flashlight which he then held in his mouth. The light glinted off metal still stuck in the wound. 

"One last-" Eren's breath shuddered, "one last thing. Try." He swallowed. His vision was starting to blur. "Try not to let it hit more skin. On the way out."

Armin looked at how deep it was lodged. He took a breath and slid the metal inside the wound. It took a few tries, but he finally had the shrapnel in the nose of the forceps. He tugged, and Eren wailed. The mini flashlight clattered to the floor. "S-Sorry!"

"Just pull!" Eren's hand was digging into the kitchen table. Armin yanked in one hard motion and the bullet dislodged. The blonde heard a sizzling noise when he accidentally hit part of Eren's skin while pulling it out. There were tears streaming down the brunette's cheeks, but he lolled his head back in relief. "One down, one to go. Right?" His breathing was still uneven, but Eren flashed a characteristic grin toward his friend. Ex. Wait, no. Not that word. Never that word for Armin. Whatever, he didn't have time for these complications right now. 

Armin looked at the inside of the wound. It strangely looked as though where the metal touched, skin had been cauterized. 

No time to think on it. Armin moved to repeat the process in Eren's leg, which fortunately went a little smoother. After the second bullet had been pulled, Armin cleaned both wounds with the bottle of antiseptic. Eren put the sleeve of his sweatshirt in his mouth to muffle his scream. Celox and gauze was applied, and Armin quietly cleaned up everything from the floor. He set about throwing away bloody extra gauze and went to the sink to scrub his hands. The water was pink for quite some time. 

Eren watched Armin as he did so, studying his posture and his face. They were so overwhelmingly tense and because of him. Again. But it was a simple comfort to see him, despite their parting circumstances not being good.

When the blonde was done washing his hands, he let out a sigh as he gripped the edge of the sink. "I'm going to ask you a question that's going to make me sound like I'm stark raving mad." Armin stated quietly. 

"If it's what I think, then you're not crazy." Eren quipped. 

"Are you a..." Armin turned to face him, and found he couldn't actually _say_ what he wanted to. It was insane. Actually saying the word was insanity.

"We call ourselves Garou. We're kin to wolves." Eren explained, gaze unwavering. "It's different from the movies, but yes. I'm a werewolf. Have been since college." 

Armin fell back against the sink, pressing his palm to his forehead. "So in July when we..." His voice trailed off and pink dusted his cheeks. 

"Yeah. And that's why later I-" Eren swallowed, then put his face in his hands. "I'm sorry I freaked out that time. I just smelled that...that _Wyrm_ on you and I lost it. You were right about there being more than I was telling you. I didn't have control over myself. I didn't say it then, but I'll say it now. It wasn't your fault. Those of the Wyrm, they're," he growled, " _They're scum,_ and they specialize in seduction. They also sometimes manipulate your memories to make you forget what they are."

Armin pulled a chair out and sat down. He rested his cheek against his knuckles and let out a sigh. "Eliminate all other factors and what remains is the truth, huh." 

Eren looked up at Armin. "It feels surreal, right?" He looked down at where he hand gripped the table. It looked like claws had dug into the wood. "By the way, I'll uh, I'll replace your table."

Armin followed Eren's gaze, and seeing the damage to his table his eyes widened. There was a chilling silence in response. Armin glanced down at his hip, where he was unconsciously touching a healed wound that looked similar. He hadn't noticed Eren watching where his eyes went. He didn't catch the guilt cross his face.

At that point, Eren stood up. "I should probably go." He turned and walked toward the door. When he heard no sign of Armin trying to stop him, he exited into the hallway. 

Armin snapped from his daze. He let out a sigh and impulsively got to his feet, chasing after Eren. He caught up easily since Eren hadn't limped far. "You can sleep on the couch tonight." Armin said as he caught Eren's wrist. "Please don't go outside like this." Even with the danger he might possibly be in, Armin couldn't in good conscience let Eren go outside in this state.

Eren looked down at him and saw the concern on his face. A smile tugged at his lips. "Okay. Thanks." 

"Here." Armin slid his arm around Eren's waist and gently led him back into the apartment. It was an awkwardly long walk for the short distance it was. But perhaps that was fitting for them. 

***

The next morning, Armin woke up groggy for work. He had only gotten about four hour's worth of sleep. When he made his way into the living room, he found a still-sleeping Eren on the couch. It reminded him of his last year at college, before Eren had suddenly dropped out and disappeared for two years.

At least during that time he got a scribbled (and really almost illegible) note and sporadic text messages. 

This past time had been more heartbreaking than last. And everyone had a point where enough was enough. But maybe Armin would never learn his lesson if the person hurting him had green eyes, unruly brown hair, and a shit-eating grin that left him weak in the knees.

Damn you, Eren Yeager. Damn you.

Shaking the thoughts, he quickly showered and dressed. His job wasn't glorious, but he enjoyed it as it meant he could take free classes from the university. Grabbing his glasses case and one of his now slightly bloody textbooks, Armin shoved both in his messenger bag then headed to the library. As head librarian assistant, there were perks if he kept up the hard work. Mostly, his goal was to become a special collections curator one day. Travel the world to collect rare books. Meet other curators and network rare artifacts as well. Earn renown and do it all while surrounded by the yellowing pages and ribbed covers that he'd cherished since childhood. His world. His dream. 

He could feel a presence from the library, something calling him. It was like his dream had made manifest and come to life inside the building. Not literally come to life but, ah well. He'd never be able to explain it to anyone. Thus why his mind was a dangerous place to leave unattended. 

Pushing open the doors, he hurried to the time clock behind the counter. He was five minutes early, as always, but he didn't want to chance being late.

Taking a breath, all chaos was cleared from his mind. He could focus at work.

He had a feeling today would be rather uneventful.

***

On the other side of town, for one veterinarian, the day's eventfulness came to fruition just before leaving his friend's house after dinner. In that his spoiled puppy was not listening to him to get inside her crate.

"Jeanbo! What is the matter with you?" The golden retriever was growling, barking at something up the stairs of Krista's house. 

"She's certainly a handful." The blonde girl laughed, offering Marco a beaming smile.

"I have no idea what's gotten into her lately." Marco sighed, stooping down to pick her up. "You are so naughty!" He said in a voice that indicated she was not in the least bit of trouble. Especially when she gave his nose several licks. They were ticklish and he laughed as he cradled her to his chest.

"I don't know what's cuter, the puppy or the way you dote on her." Krista laughed, patting him lightly on the shoulder.

Marco beamed a bit with a shrug, "Guess she's the only girl for me. Besides Mom of course."

"Of course." Krista chimed in, leaning forward to pet Jeanbo. 

"Thanks for having us for dinner," Marco offered a smile. It was a bit brighter than it had been, which Krista noticed right away. She nudged him with her shoulder, 

"I'm glad you came. You seem pretty energetic." Krista studied his face for his reply. It seemed pretty genuine. Marco of course tried to skirt around the issues that would make others worry. But they had worked together for these past two years, and she was good at spotting it.

"I've surprisingly been sleeping better." Marco sighed and looked down at the retriever. "She has been too. She almost never wakes me." 

"That's good. I'm sure it helps." 

"Well, I should probably head out." He changed the subject, not wanting to get stuck thinking about the insomnia bouts that had randomly been cured.

"See you at the office Monday." Krista chirped. Giving him a wave, she smiled and closed the door. As she turned to go up her stairs, Jean Kirstein was leaning against the wall with arms folded. She nearly leapt out of her skin. He flashed a toothy grin, "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Liar," Krista snapped. "I do you a favor and you sneak up on me like that?" He shrugged, indifferent. There was a pressing matter at hand.

"You cast the spell again?" He asked the mage, locking eyes with her. His power didn't quite work on her, but it was harder to lie if she was looking straight at him.

"Managed to do it while I was eating. Transferred it when I passed the salt and pepper." 

"Good job." Jean tossed a wadded up roll of bills at her, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Damn dog can still smell me though. You put it on her too?"

"When I scratched her chin before she left." Her tone switched to impatient, "Now did you get any information on Ymir?"

Jean let out a sigh. "I'm catching wind she might be in Italy. One of the clan councils is in session there, and I have a source who says she might try to crash it."

Krista put her hand to her forehead, muttering something. Giving a nod, she added, "Let me know if you hear anything else. I'll try again with a dream walk tonight."

"Will do." 

With that, the business exchange ended. Jean gave a wave as he headed out, moving toward the center of town. His Thirst was increasing, and he needed more blood. He hadn't taken enough blood from his target yesterday, and that was bad. If his sire knew that he still hesitated, it would lead to punishment. Jean's sire wasn't a cruel man by nature; in his own way he was kind by being blunt and calling things out. He didn't coddle. He didn't nurture. 

But despite his tough banter, he cared. He wasn't so far removed from his humanity as others seemed to think. He was just old, and that had skewed his views. His sire had been turned in 1789 amid bloodshed of his fellow brethren. So he was bound to be a bit cynical. 

Jean shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned. The bond between childe and sire was complicated. He knew first hand from both sides. 

A familiar scent of blood passed him, snapping him immediately from his thoughts. He scanned the people strolling by and caught sight of a blonde head of hair. Jean grinned. Looks like he'd have enough blood after all. 

Armin knew that reading and walking was not the safest past time, but old habits were hard to break. It might have been helpful to pay attention to his surroundings though, especially tonight. Had his nose not been buried in a book, he might not have gotten snatched into a dark alleyway. 

His breath hitched as he was slammed into a wall. Armin's eyes flicked up to meet harsh gold ones. He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a cross. Jean hissed, covering his eyes. 

"I-I know what you are now. And you don't want to mess with me. My boyfriend will tear you in two." He found his courage, clutching to the cross tightly and holding it up in order to repel Jean. 

Or so he thought. 

Jean dropped the act; he stood up straight and plucked the cross from Armin's hands. He tossed it over his shoulder, "You know, your mutt should have told you that those things don't work on all of us. And good to know he actually _is_ your boyfriend. That's going to make this so much better."

Armin's eyes went wide. Shit. Guess that was the wrong bluff. 

"Boyfriend is a loose term?" The blonde tried to run, but met resistance from Jean's arm. It was like trying to ram a brick wall. 

"Close enough. It's still an eye for an eye." Jean grabbed both of Armin's hands in one wrist and used his free hand to nudge his chin up. "He still tried to attack mine. And don't think I missed your stunt with the gun."

Armin's eyes narrowed. "You won't leave me alone. And if you don't stop, next time I'll pull the trigger."

"Will you? I think you're in denial. Tell me, Armin..." Their eyes locked. "Don't you like to be bitten?"

The shorter blonde trembled. A familiar feeling washed over him. His pulse quickened. His body was remembering. He tried to suppress the urge. But last time had felt so _good._ Wait. Last time? Yes. Last time. A memory was coming back to him. A feeling of incredible pleasure. 

_You want it._

Armin couldn't look away; their eye contact still unbroken. 

"Yes." Armin's voice had turned small and needy. The false memory of their one night stand had been lifted. He remembered what had really happened between them. 

"Say it." Jean purred, running his fingers down the blonde's throat. Jean could feel the indecision. He was _relishing_ in it. 

"I need the-" He whispered, moving against Jean's thigh that was now slipping between his legs. Logic nor emotions would win this one. There was a word for what he wanted. He remembered it in that instant. No, it wasn't a one night stand he wanted. It was something less than innocent. Perhaps it was worse. "Please. Please, Kiss me." 

Jean chuckled and leaned forward to grant his wish. His fangs protruded and he clamped down on the soft skin of Armin's neck. The smaller man moaned, rocking his hips against Jean's knee. As Jean sucked, Armin's moans became pleading whimpers. He fisted his hands into Jean's jacket and kept moving greedily into the touch. 

His body betrayed him. How could it not? Waves of pleasure pulsed through his body with each suckle of his neck. He came quickly as Jean took one last drink. Armin's body shuddered, and he fell forward as Jean licked a stripe to cover the bite mark. It would be gone by morning. 

The scent of him would not, however. 

"Give Eren my regards." Jean snorted, stepping back.

The name snapped him out of his bizarre trance. Armin looked at Jean in horror as realization settled in. He clamped a hand over his neck and screamed, "You bastard!" 

"Keep it down or I'll snap that neck of yours," Jean threatened. 

"H-Help! Someone!" Armin shouted. Jean grabbed him around his waist and pulled him further into the ally. "Someone! Please! Anyone!" He was screaming, pounding his fists against Jean's shoulders. Where was Eren? Would he save him? The blonde was kicking, screaming, thrashing wildly.

Was anyone listening?

Would anyone help?

Just when he thought he was done for, there was a loud crashing sound. CLANG! Armin's eyes flew open. He had shut them during his fit of screaming. He stared at a figure holding the metal lid to a trash can. 

"Put him down!" The man shouted, and a tiny bark re-emphasized the point. There was a small golden retriever puppy growling at the man holding him. 

Armin felt his feet touch the ground. He looked between the vet he had pointed a gun at and the vampire whose bites sent his body to euphoria. The freckled vet dropped the lid, loud noise echoing from its crash to the ground. The puppy scampered behind him to hide. 

Jean glared at Armin, but then turned to fully face Marco. Blood was still coating his lips to his chin. 

"Hi, baby." He licked his lips once before wiping the rest off the blood off with a handkerchief. 

Marco trembled in disbelief. He didn't know he had seen Jean once before. He didn't know that this was the second time he had this reaction.

The next sequence of actions happened simultaneously. Armin used the distraction as a chance to run. Jean caught it from the corner of his eye and turned toward the fleeing blonde. Still in shock, Marco took a step back. But Marco tripped over Jeanbo and fell backward. The puppy yelped, crying as she scurried out of the way of his impending fall. 

With a loud crack, his head struck the concrete and instantly darkness enveloped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a reunion, a fight, an awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Emergency response time - can be shorter in big cities, my experience was seven and a half minutes. Plus I looked it up on the internet, and they can't put anything on the internet that isn't true. Bonjour.
> 
> Also: picture Marco Bodt with a cute puppy. My Marco wanted that like burning, so I wrote this for her because she is tiny and precious and puts up with my "no you don't understand how fantastic of a character Jean is" ramblings. Though she plays an adorable Marco, in real life she'll cut you ._.;; so I'm posting this for fear of my life.
> 
> No seriously. She's like a tiny ferocious chipmunk.
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter preview: A wolf. Reunion. One word betrayal.


End file.
